Distractions
by Mimulus
Summary: Holmes is persuaded to take a holiday from his university studies. But events swiftly take a more sinister turn... Sister story to 'unfinished business' explained in Author's Notes NOW COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

A/N:

OK, for anyone who has read 'The Case of the Academic Abduction', first of all, thanks! (And I'm glad it didn't put you off reading more of my stories!) If you liked Ida and co then you might be interested in _Unfinished Business_, a sort of sister story to this one which is at the same time a sequel to Academic Abduction. (The author's note at the beginning of that story explains a little better what I'm trying to do). Otherwise, _Distractions_ is a stand alone story in its own right, and I hope that it turns out OK…

_

* * *

_

The door opened and sunlight flooded into the room.

'Damn!'

'What?...Why is it so dark in here? Holmes?'

The young man stood up from the desk and tore the red shade from the wall mounted oil lamp, saying

'Photography, Morris…'

'Oh...'

'Open the curtains. It's no good now.'

'Sorry...You could have put a sign on the door or something, you know…'

'I thought you were out…' he said, tetchily, pushing thick glass bottles full of liquid towards the back of his desk, adding sardonically, 'with Edwina.'

'I was,' said Morris. He strode to the window and drew the thick black curtains, then threw open the window to let in the summer air.

'It can't be healthy, spending all day in the dark, Holmes…'

'…thankyou for your concern, Morris, but…'

'…I know, I know, you're pushing back the boundaries of chemistry whilst I'm frittering away my life punting on the Isis. I didn't come here to exchange the same old clichés…'

'Then why?' said Holmes, in a slightly less abrasive tone, 'did you come? Cigarette?' He proffered a silver case.

'Thanks,' said Morris, taking one. He perched himself on the windowsill, drew out a book of matches from the inside pocket of his jacket and tapped it absent mindedly against his knee.

'How do you fancy a holiday?'

Holmes stared at him for a moment

'A…holiday?'

Morris laughed tersely, 'you'd think I'd suggested we rob a bank!' he exclaimed, placing the cigarette in his mouth. He lit a match and, shielding it from the breeze from the window with his hand, held the flame to the paper tube. Inhaling deeply, he shook the match out and dropped the wooden stump out of the window.

'Well?' he asked with half his mouth.

Holmes snorted and went to sit on the battered armchair that occupied the corner of his small study that was perpetually in shadow, even on the brightest days.

'I haven't got time for holidays.'

'Holmes, you could write the exam _questions_ for your course, you don't need to revise. And besides, finals aren't for 5 weeks.'

'Over confidence in one's abilities is but a few steps away from a fatal error of judgement…'

'Yes, and working every hour of the day is but a step away from a total breakdown. Take the word of a medical student, alright?'

'Oh, you're still calling yourself that?'

Morris laughed, but there was a slightly pleading note to his voice when he next spoke

'Please, Sherlock. It's only for a fortnight. Edwina…'

'Oho! So this is Edwina's influence!'

'Edwina's aunt has a house in Venice…well…sounds like more of a palace the way Edwina describes it…and…'

'Venice,' said Holmes, holding up a finger, 'spiritual home of romantic poets, beloved of artists, eulogised by countless writers over the centuries... And yourself,' he raised another finger, 'quite possibly _the_ Casanova of Christchurch College…'

'…now steady on,' complained Morris,

'and' continued Holmes, raising a third finger, 'the lovely Edwina Trelawney… Now, tell me if I've missed something, but I fail to see how my presence can possibly be of assistance…'

'Edwina said I should bring a friend from college…And…and damn it, Holmes, you are my best friend here, for all your odd habits…and…I thought you might enjoy it…'

Holmes made a non committal noise

'Well, I apologise for having interrupted your experiment,' said Morris, standing up quickly, 'and I apologise for my error of judgement in even contemplating this idea, I can't think what came over me. Thanks for the cigarette.' His tone was clipped and emotionless, and he walked stiffly to the door.

'Wait, Morris,' said Holmes, suddenly contrite. 'Two weeks, did you say?'

'That's right,' said Morris, ' are you planning to tell my tutor about all the work I'll miss?'

Holmes sighed heavily and lent back languidly in the chair. Observing his friend down the bridge of his nose with narrowed eyes, he asked, casually

'When do we leave?'

Morris started in surprise, saying

'What?'

'Well…you know…' Holmes bent his elbows and clasped his hands behind his head, 'I am pretty…competent at Chemistry.'

'And?'

'And there might be room for a little culture.'

'Really?'

'Just for two weeks.'

'Isn't this just _perfectly charming?_!' shouted Edwina for what seemed to Holmes to be the fifth time. He turned to face her, and nodded politely just like he had every other time. Her hair was coming undone from its complicated arrangement of curls and ribbons and whipping against her eyes in the strong wind, and her face was pale and damp with the water's spray, but a toothy smile persisted beneath her too flat nose and too widely spaced eyes.

'Do you think we might go back inside and see how Morris is doing?' he shouted in his turn

'And miss our first sight of Venice!' she exclaimed, 'Morris did choose the worst time to be seasick…'

'I hardly think he _chose_ to be seasick…' Holmes muttered beneath the roar of the wind, drawing his coat closer around himself. How could it be that for the last two days of solid train travel the sun had beaten down relentlessly, turning the carriages into furnaces, yet today, as they finally neared their destination, the sky was a sulky grey? He screwed up his eyes and looked keenly at the mist before them, saying

'I can't see anything yet.'

'What?'

'I said _I can't see anything yet!_'

'Oh…wait! Wait! What's that?'

'What?'

'I thought I saw a tower!'

'Wonderful.'


	2. A Death in the Family

A/N, A big apology for the massive delay in posting this chapter. If anyone's still interested in reading it, I hope to be able to post the chapters more regularly from now on!

* * *

The edge of the gondola scraped against the wooden jetty, which appeared to have come off worse in an ongoing battle with various wood boring invertebrates. Holmes scrambled to his feet, and the boat rocked from side to side,

'ooh!' squealed Edwina, 'don't let me fall out, Morris!'

'It's quite safe, madam,' the gondolier assured her in only slightly accented English. Grasping the wooden railing, Holmes placed a foot firmly on the steps that ran down to the water's surface and ascended to the jetty's platform.

'Allow me, Miss Trelawney,' he extended a hand down towards her,

'Go on, Edwina,' encouraged Morris

5 minutes later they found themselves, and their luggage, still in front of the imposing wooden front door of the house. Several minutes of knocking had yielded no reply.

'Aunt Lucinda!' called Edwina for the sixth time, arching her neck to stare expectantly at the upper storeys.

'I don't understand it!' she said, turning to Morris, 'I have her letter here…'

Holmes shut out Morris's murmured agreements and expressions of mutual puzzlement, and idly reached into the inner pocket of his coat. Ignoring the smooth leather rectangle of his wallet he found instead a smaller, softer roll of tarred fabric. Unwrapping it on his palm revealed a book of matches, a small razor blade, a needle and a carefully bent piece of wire. This he picked up gingerly and held between his teeth whilst returning the rest to his pocket. Then he sauntered over to examine the door.

'_I shall expect you on Wednesday evening_…' Edwina read aloud, 'it says so right here, look Morris!'

'Where, dearest?'

'Here! Look!'

'Why, so it does, and today is, of course, Wednesday…'

'…and it's the evening…'

'…as you so perceptively observe, dear heart, it is the evening…'

'Perhaps,' said Holmes, 'we might try the door…'

Edwina and Morris stared at him

'It might have been left open,'

'Oh, no, it couldn't be…' Edwina began, but Morris, who had caught Holmes' eye, strode over and pushed at the handle.

The door swung open soundlessly.

'Oh well _done_ Morris!'

The marble floored hallway was dark and smelled damp. Which, Holmes supposed, was only to be expected in a city quite literally built on the sea.

'Let's open the shutters or something,' said Morris, clearly trying to keep some trepidation out of his voice.

'Aunt Lucinda!' called Edwina, 'Aunt Lucinda?'

Holmes peered around in the gloom. He could just about make out the bottom of a staircase…

…a creak and a bang heralded a rush of daylight as Morris managed to open the shutters. Holmes blinked, and saw that there was indeed a staircase, decorated in a rococo style. Its intricate and - to his taste -over the top, carvings had clearly once been gilded but the gold was now peeling to reveal the dark wood beneath. The stairs boasted a thinning red carpet…

…and a young man was descending them

'Cousin Edwina!' he exclaimed, in obvious shock.

'Daniel?' she half gasped, half squealed, 'is that _you_!'

The young man, whose grey eyes, pale blonde hair and pasty complexion did not seem given to passionate expression suddenly flashed a delighted smile and he practically leapt down the last few steps to stand before the 3 new arrivals.

'Daniel, Aunt Lucinda never said you were staying here too!' said Edwina breathlessly, clasping his arms with her still gloved hands. The young man drew back suddenly.

'Daniel?'

'Edwina…I…'

Genuine anxiety now furrowed Edwina's forehead,

'What's happened Daniel?'

Morris stepped forward to put an arm protectively around Edwina's shoulders

'Where's Miss Lucinda Trelawney?' he asked, a little forcefully.

'Aunt Lucinda…' began the young man slowly, 'Aunt Lucinda…' His voice trembled, and Holmes felt a sick cold fear in the base of his stomach,

'I'm so sorry Edwina,' Daniel managed, finally,

'She's dead.'


	3. Consequences

'When did it happen?'

Part of Holmes despised his own slightly voyeuristic curiosity, but he felt obliged to make some sort of conversation, and he'd never been that good at small talk.

'Just yesterday,' said Daniel, not meeting Holmes' eye, but instead fiddling with one of the boat's cushions,

'Oh,' said Holmes in surprise, 'I'm…well…I…' he bit back what he was going to say – that having the reading of the old lady's last will and testament the very evening after she had died seemed a little quick off the mark – and finished lamely 'I'm so sorry, once again, for your loss…'

Cursing his conversational ineptitude, Holmes turned his gaze to the buildings they were passing by, as their boat made its way along the Grand Canal. It was getting dark, and the lanterns on the boats which still thronged the water would have created a charming spectacle in happier circumstances. They were heading towards the office of the late Lucinda Trelawney's solicitor, which was located somewhere in the North of the city. When Daniel had announced that he was on his way to hear the will, and naturally invited Edwina to come too, there didn't seem to be much of an option as far as she was concerned. Holmes himself had not wanted to intrude on a private family occasion, but Morris had silently pleaded with him to come along, and he had not wanted to abandon his friend.

……..

'What do you make of this Daniel chap?' asked Morris, lighting another cigarette with fingers that shook slightly. They were in the small waiting room outside the solicitor's office, only family members having been permitted at the reading of the will itself.

'Jumpy, but that's to be expected I suppose,' mused Holmes, 'we took him by surprise…'

'…it's just too dreadful!' Morris exclaimed suddenly, 'poor Edwina…'

'yes,' said Holmes,

'I shouldn't have let her come to this,' Morris angrily stubbed out the only slightly smoked cigarette, and reached for another,

'She'll be alright,'

'She's very sensitive,'

'Well…she's got you. And her cousin of course…'

'This was supposed to be a holiday!'

'Mmm...'

There was a moment's silence.

'I'm sorry to have dragged you into this old chap…'

'That's quite alright, Morris,' said Holmes evenly. 'The city looks interesting at any rate. Did you happen to see…'

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden opening of the office door

'Mr Trelawney,' came a heavily accented voice from inside, 'please wait,'

'We have heard all there is to hear,' said Daniel, emerging into the waiting room, 'come on Edwina,'

'I'm sorry,' they heard Edwina say, 'thank you for your help in any case…'

'_Grazie signore_,' said Daniel over his shoulder, bitterness written into every line of his form, '_Arrivederci_.'

'What happened…?' asked Morris tentatively, 'Edwina?'

A few seconds later Edwina too emerged. Morris was already on his feet, and he strode over to put his arms around her.

'Oh Morris…' she started to sob, 'Morris, I can't bear this…'

'It's alright, dearest, I'm here…'

Holmes turned away, feeling terribly awkward. He looked for Daniel, but realised that he was no longer in the waiting room,

'Mr Trelawney?' he called, making for the door. But the narrow passageway outside – both the small pavement down the edge and the canal – were empty. The boat they had hired to take them to the office, and asked to wait, had also left.

Feeling mildly irritated, Holmes turned back into the waiting room, where Edwina's sobbing had thankfully subsided.

'Right,' said Morris, seeing that Holmes had come back, 'we're going to a hotel.'

'No,' said Edwina

'Edwina, darling, you need to rest… And we can't stay…well…it wouldn't be good for you to stay at your aunt's…'

'We're not going to a hotel or to my aunt's,' said Edwina, and sniffed with an air of finality, tossing her head backwards. When she swung it back to look at the two men it was with a bright, if somewhat forced, smile

'This is a holiday, correct?'

'Well, hardly…'

'This _is_ a holiday. And we're going to _enjoy_ it.'

'Yes, darling, of course, but…'

'No buts, Morris. We're going _out_.'

…….

'I hope Edwina's alright, she's been gone a while…'

Holmes drank the last of his brandy and looked round for somewhere to set down the glass. The salon was swarming with young men and women in evening dress, many sporting the classic Venetian carnival masks, but boasted few tables…

'Holmes? I said I hope Edwina's alright…'

'Oh, yes…sorry…Um, I'm sure she'll be back soon…'

This was the third such salon they had visited. Holmes had preferred the last one, where there had been a string quartet playing Vivaldi from behind a wooden grill to entertain the customers. This one was merely hot and crowded, catering for the post opera crowd who arrived fairly drunk in any case and were not terribly discerning…

'Excuse me, are either of you called Morris?' came a voice with a faint accent that Holmes could not quite place. He turned round to see a young woman standing behind them. She wore no carnival mask, and her pale, sharp face was framed by folds of sleek brown hair.

'I am,' Morris answered her, 'what…?'

'There's an English girl in the ladies powder room asking for someone called Morris. She's quite upset…'

'….I knew this was a damned stupid idea,' said Morris, 'I'll fetch her, Holmes, we had better find somewhere to stay for tonight…'

He strode off, leaving Holmes with their new acquaintance

'Thank you, Miss….?'

'Erin Aquilla,' she answered

Holmes raised an eyebrow, but she continued smoothly

'And what is your name?'

'Holmes.'

'Well good evening, Mr Holmes,' she said, fixing his eyes with hers. He met her gaze, and returned its searching intensity.

'A word of advice, Miss…Aquilla. Next time pick a less obvious pseudonym.'

Her smile widened, oozing self assurance, and

'This evening is turning out to be more interesting than I thought,' she declared, snapping open her fan with a flick of her wrist.

Holmes knew he should head for the exit and try to find a boat willing to take them to a hotel, but something about this young woman was highly intriguing

'Sorry about my friend,' he found himself saying, 'he didn't mean to be rude. It's been a…difficult day.'

'I'm sure. The girl was very distressed. Hysterical, even.'

Holmes felt vaguely that he ought to be sticking up for Edwina,

'Her aunt died yesterday. She only found out a matter of hours ago…'

'How terrible,'

'Yes… I… I should be sorting out a…'

'…a hotel?'

'Er, yes, a hotel…'

'I can personally recommend the Hotel Europe. Fabulous views.'

'Oh…Well, thank you…That sounds excellent. I had better go and see if I can find a boat…'

'Would you mind awfully if I shared a boat back with you?'

'I…'

'It's just that it's so late…'

'I…er…'

He met her eyes once more.

'Of course…' he said.


	4. Hidden Agendas

A/N: thanks for the reviews everyone, apologies for the delay updating. I'm a bit bad at descriptions as you may have gathered, so I do sort of 'broad strokes' and leave the rest for you to fill in, but I'll try to get a bit more detail here...

* * *

Holmes gazed morosely at the city on the grey horizon. He was sitting in the wooden boat that had brought the body of Lucinda Trelawney to San Michele – Venice's cemetery island. Although he had accompanied the others this far, he had not gone to the funeral. He felt incredibly awkward – a perfect stranger intruding on Edwina and Daniel's grief. Something made him shy from setting foot on the island itself, so he had chosen to remain on the boat and wait for the others to return. 

For some reason his thoughts kept drifting to Erin Aquilla. She had barely spoken a word in the boat back to the hotel the previous night, and he had seen no sign of her at breakfast that morning. And then, after breakfast, Edwina had insisted that they check out straight away, saying that her aunt would have wanted them to stay in her house…

…suddenly Holmes became aware of voices coming from the stone jetty above where the boat was moored…

'_Daniel_, I…'

Edwina's voice was filled with something very much akin to horror,

'I can't _believe_ you could even _suggest_ such a thing…We've just _buried_ her, and you…'

'Very well, forget I even…'

'…you're my _cousin_!'

'…If it's good enough for royalty…'

'…and what about Morris?'

'Have you told him?'

'No, no, not yet, I… Daniel, we've been friends for as long as I can remember, I don't want to hurt you, but…'

'_Forget I ever said it._'

There was the sound of swift footsteps on stone as Daniel walked away, then the sound of Edwina crying softly. Trepidation and puzzlement swirled in Holmes' mind, but puzzlement and some sort of basic empathy won the day, and he stood up in the boat and climbed the steps to the jetty platform.

……

'Oh, Sherlock…' Edwina sniffed, 'I'm sorry, I…'

'You don't need to apologise,' said Holmes, as kindly as he knew how,

'You didn't hear…?'

'Hear what?'

'Oh, nothing…'

'Is Morris coming?'

'Yes, he just had to get some…papers…from the…'

The sobs started up once more. Holmes patted her on the shoulder, wishing himself anywhere else, but preferably back in Oxford. But that same curiosity which he could almost hate himself for was nagging at him, especially after the conversation he had overheard…

'Daniel seems to be taking everything rather…hard,' he remarked,

'Oh _Daniel_…' Edwina exhaled, 'Daniel is a …he's a...fool. If he knew me at all then he'd know that I…'

'That you…?'

'I never thought that _money_ would matter so much to him…'

'Edwina…' Holmes asked, tentatively, 'was there something…unusual about the will…?'

'Hah!' snorted Edwina, 'unusual! Yes! You could say that!'

'Something about Daniel? Something about…you?'

'I…' Edwina seemed to be torn as to whether or not to reveal anything else, 'I…It is the oddest thing… The solicitor said that…' she broke off suddenly

'Yes?'

'Not now, Morris is coming…'

Morris had indeed just emerged from the gate of the cemetery. Holmes pulled away from Edwina, and called

'Hello there! Ready to head back?'

'Absolutely…'

……..

'Miss Aquilla?'

The young woman turned to face him, and smiled in recognition:

'Mr Holmes… I looked for you at breakfast…'

'We must have missed each other.'

'Indeed,'

Holmes fought to remember exactly what he had planned to say…

'So the whole of _Venezia_ offers nothing to equal the charms of the reception at the Hotel Europe' she asked, leaning her head to one side,

'Excuse me?'

'Have you been sitting here all morning?'

'No! I…er…' he recalled the story he had told Morris and Edwina as an excuse to return to the hotel 'I left my…diary…here.'

'I see. And you have now retrieved it?'

'What?'

'Your diary.'

'Oh yes.'

'And do you have any urgent appointments this afternoon?'

'Um…'

'Do you need to check your diary?'

'No...'

'No you don't need to check your diary or no you don't have any urgent appointments this afternoon?'

'No…I have nothing planned…except…'

'Except?'

'I had…wondered… That is, if this isn't too presumptuous…'

For the first time in their conversation she didn't interrupt him,

'…I wondered if you might join me for lunch?'

She smiled with tight lips that hinted at suppressed laughter, but didn't say a word.

'Forgive me, I know we are complete strangers, and…'

She held up a finger to silence him

'Just let me check my diary.'

……………

'Not what you expected?' smiled Erin, daintily picking up a slice of pizza in her fingers and taking a small bite

'Well, not exactly…' admitted Holmes, 'this is quite….unconventional, Miss Aquilla…'

'…Erin, please…'

'…Erin, then, I had imagined perhaps a restaurant…But this…'

He turned to look once again across the water, where the tower of St Mark's square and the domes of the Basilica were visible next to the Byzantine splendour of the Doge's Palace. They were sitting on a rug on the piazza outside the church on the small island of San Giorgio. Their pizza, bought from a pizzeria on Giudecca, was fast going cold, but somehow he didn't feel particularly hungry.

'How's your friend?'

'Morris?'

'Yes, and his fiancé?'

'The funeral was this morning.'

'How did her aunt die?'

Holmes was slightly taken aback at the directness of the question.

'You know… I don't know,' he said, 'old age, I suppose…'

'How old was she?'

'Again, I don't know… I barely know Edwina really, it's Morris I'm friends with…'

'…it doesn't matter…'

'No, but…'

'But?'

'But there's something odd about the whole affair… Edwina's cousin, another nephew of the old woman…he's been acting very oddly… Ever since they heard what was in the will…'

'Ah, the will! Well, that would be it, wouldn't it?'

'Excuse me?'

'Money. What everything comes down to in the end. She probably left it to the church or something. That would annoy them….'

'Edwina's not like that…'

'I thought you said you didn't know her? Most people are like that, when it gets right down to it.'

'There are more important things than money,' said Holmes

She looked up from wiping her fingers on her handkerchief, leaving bright red tomato smears on the white linen,

'I only said _most people_,' she said, softly.


	5. Sacrifices

Once again, a gondola scraped against the wooden jetty outside the Trelawney house. But even the grim memories of their last arrival there couldn't dull Holmes' spirits as he paid the gondolier and clambered up onto the decking.

'Holmes!' he heard Morris shout, and looked up to see his friend leaning out of one of the upstairs windows, 'I'll come and open the front door!'

When the door did open, it was only by a fraction, and Morris slipped out rather than letting Holmes in

'I'm so glad you're back,' he said, quietly, 'I don't know what that bloody will said, but Edwina's been avoiding me all day and that _cousin_ of hers…'

Holmes instantly felt guilty for having abandoned Morris for so long. Lunch on San Giorgio had somehow turned into a tour of St Mark's Square…

'…and she's insisting that we stay here, even though half the house is moulding away, I swear you could catch pneumonia just from the curtains and…'

…then they had strolled through the market occupying the Rialto Bridge, commenting on the faintly grotesque designs of the Murano glass vases and chandeliers, then…

'_Holmes!_'

Morris shoved him hard in the chest, and he staggered to one side, as an almighty crash tore through the air, followed by the sound of splintering wood. Finding his balance again, inches from the edge of the wooden platform, Holmes turned in bewilderment to see what had happened.

A huge wooden shutter, now broken into several pieces, lay just in front of the front door. Holmes looked blankly up at the house where one of the second storey windows was now half naked, gulped slowly as his mind caught up with reality and…

'Morris!' he cried, his voice choking, stumbling towards the wreckage. In a blind panic he shifted the wooden frame and slats as though they weighed nothing.

'…Holmes…'

'Hold on, Morris,' he said, desperately, 'I'm sure Edwina's coming…'

'I thought,' he managed to gasp out, 'that you…you of all people…would know I don't care two pins for Edwina…' his words disappeared into choking coughs which shook his entire body. Holmes felt sick to see specks of blood appearing at the corners of his mouth.

'Morris…I don't understand…'

'…It doesn't…matter…'

'Morris, I'm going to fetch a doctor, I'm going to…'

'…Holmes…I may not…be the best medical…student…but…'

'_Morris_!'

The high pitched shriek could only belong to Edwina. Holmes found himself shoved to one side for the second time.

'Oh Morris, Morris, Morris…' she muttered frantically, cradling his head with her hands, but he now seemed beyond speech

'A doctor,' Holmes repeated to himself, 'we need a doctor…'

He stood up, to see Daniel standing in the front doorway, staring at the scene.

'A doctor!' Holmes cried, 'where can we find a...'

'I don't think,' said Daniel slowly, 'that a doctor is going to do any good.'

Holmes clenched his fists involuntarily,

'Let's let a doctor be the judge of that,' he said, 'where can I…'

'You…_monster_!' came a sudden howl from Edwina

Holmes turned in shock to see her slowly lay Morris' head back onto the platform and stand up, visibly shaking

'Monster!' she again addressed her cousin, 'I suppose this is just what you _wanted_!'

'Edwina, I…'

'Oh, yes yes yes! One less obstacle in the way of your little plan!'

'I don't have a _plan_, Edwina, and I…'

'Well know this, _Daniel_, I will never, _never_ marry you. In fact…I will never _marry_, and Aunt Lucinda's money can rot with her!'

She dropped to her knees once again to clutch at Morris's shirt

'Morris….Morris…' her voice faded to a creaking whisper

Holmes turned away, feeling sick.


	6. Accusations

A/N: another chapter, sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy it!

* * *

There had to be _something_. There _had_ to be something. _There had to be something_. 

Holmes gnawed distractedly at the side of his thumb as he leant against the wall in the second storey bedroom. He had examined the hinges and the remaining shutter in a kind of detached calm. The hinges were practically rusted through, and when he had, with an amazingly steady hand, tested the second shutter it had wobbled ominously.

An accident waiting to happen.

That's what the police had said when they arrived, and removed…the body.

His knees felt strangely weak, and he let himself slide down the wall to sit on the floor. Whatever strength had seen him deal with the police, escort Edwina to the Hotel Europe and now return back here to examine the window in microscopic detail had deserted him.

_There had to be something._

Begin at the beginning.

Arriving back after his afternoon spent with Erin?

No, further back than that, begin at the _very beginning_…

An old woman had died.

A will had been read.

A young man had argued with his cousin on _San Michele_.

And Morris had been an…what had Edwina said?

An _obstacle_ to the plan…

Standing, turning to face the window, he felt he was seeing the world through different eyes. A sense of incredible lucidity washed over him, and his gaze swept up and down the frame and torn hinges, not missing a single scratch or blemish in the paintwork.

And then he saw it.

... 

'A screwdriver,' repeated the policeman, flatly

'Yes,' said Holmes, unable to contain his irritation as he spoke to what must have been the third separate official to deal with him, 'there was a screwdriver on the floor beside the window in the second storey bedroom,'

'And…?'

'And I think that Daniel Trelawney deliberately loosened the hinges of the shutter, perhaps even pried them away from the frame, in order to let it fall at the precise moment that Morris and I stood underneath. When I examined the woodwork I found evidence of scratches that…'

'So you are suggesting that Signor Trelawney tried to kill you…'

'…I am _suggesting_ that Daniel Trelawney _murdered_ my friend, because he wanted to marry his fiancé…'

'Signor Trelawney's fiancé?'

'No! Morris's fiancé. Daniel Trelawney's cousin.'

'Signor Trelawney wanted to marry his cousin…?'

'…to get hold of his great aunt's estate, if you look at her will I'm almost certain that…'

'...have you seen this will?'

'…well…no, but…'

'…has Signorina Trelawney told you anything that has led you to this conclusion?'

'…well, not in so many words, but if you got her in here then…'

'Signor Holmes,' the policeman said, calmly, 'you have had a terrible experience today. Why don't you go home and try to rest?'

'…But…'

'We are not going to arrest Signor Trelawney on the basis of a screwdriver and some supposition.'

'…But…'

'Holmes?' a strangely melodic voice cut through the fog of his frustration, and he turned to see a familiar figure coming out of a door at the back of the police station.

'Erin?' he said, his voice barely registering surprise, emotionally drained as he was.

'Holmes! It is you! What are you doing here?'

'I…well…' he stuttered, trying to find appropriate words,

Erin took his arm

'Come on,' she said, 'let's go and get something to eat.'

She said something over her shoulder to the policeman in Italian. Holmes thought vaguely that he might have caught the word for 'father', but he couldn't be certain.

...…..

'Do you believe me?'

Erin took another sip of coffee before answering

'It is…plausible, Holmes, but…'

'…no concrete proof,' he finished for her, 'nothing to stand up in a court of law.'

'It is no more than a theory, after all.'

'But do _you_ believe me?

'I…'

Erin was clearly uncomfortable at the question, but there was something else in her manner that seemed slightly distracted.

'It doesn't matter,' said Holmes morosely, placing his elbow on the table and his head in his hand. Through a gap in his fingers he glimpsed Erin sneak a look over towards another table in the café, before she leant across the table to take his other hand

'I believe you,' she said quietly.

Holmes made no reply, but raised his head again, this time looking in the same direction Erin had. He found his gaze met by that of a late middle aged man about 3 tables away. The man was making no effort to disguise the way he was staring straight at their table.

When he looked back at Erin, she seemed even more disquieted

'Let's go,' she said, 'I need to stretch my legs.'

'You know,' Holmes said, 'I still don't know your real name.'

'And I still don't know your first name,' she retorted, 'Are you going to fetch my coat?'


	7. Departures

A/N Happy New Year everyone, and I'm so sorry for the unforgivably long break in updating this story and the Ida story... I'm putting the finishing touches on the latest Ida chapter, and another chapter of this one, so they should be up very soon...

* * *

Holmes entered the Trelawney house by picking the lock once more, not wishing to alert Daniel Trelawney to his arrival, should the young man have already returned. However, the house was deathly silent, and as far as Holmes could tell there was no sign of any change since he had left it a couple of hours previously. 

His puzzlement over Erin and the strange man faded to a whisper in the back of his mind, as his resolve to implicate Daniel Trelawney in Morris's death once and for all grew stronger. The tenuous nature of the actual evidence which had led him to blame Trelawney was immaterial, he knew, he _knew_ with every fibre of his being that he was right.

He found himself outside the door of Daniel's room with no recollection of having climbed the stairs. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he stood for a good 20 seconds listening hard for any sounds within, but none were obvious. When he tried the handle it was locked, but naturally that was no obstacle.

Daniel's room was more luxuriously furnished than he might have imagined, had he given it any thought. A chaise lounge occupied one wall, facing a four poster bed. All the furniture was made of dark wood that had probably once been highly polished, but now lacked lustre, and the gold brocade curtains that adorned the bed and window were dulled by dust.

Holmes scanned the room, unsure what it was that he was looking for exactly, until his gaze lighted upon the bookshelf. There was something wrong with the bottom row of books, something in the crisp cornered regularity of their spines…

…in a couple of strides he was crouching beside the shelf, pulling at one of the books. It refused to move. But with some persuasive wiggling and a good hard tug, the entire bottom shelf's worth of books came out in his hand – a mere wooden facsimile of a series of book spines, only about an inch thick. There was a cavity behind.

Reaching inside, Holmes' fingers brushed against something cool and shiny. He withdrew a small glass phial. On removing the stopper, the scent of bitter almonds caught his nostrils so gently that he wondered if he might have imagined it, but on further inhalation…

…hydrogen cyanide solution, otherwise known as prussic acid.

The bottle was half empty.

_Had_ Lucinda Trelawney died of old age?

He replaced everything as he had found it, even taking the precaution of wiping his own finger prints off the poison bottle, and left Daniel's room. Leaning his back against the door, he pondered his next move. Just then he heard the front door close softly, and footsteps clicking on the hall floor. Had Daniel chosen this moment to return? A dozen or so strides found him at the top of the staircase, looking over the banister to see…

'Erin?' he exclaimed in astonishment, 'what are…?'

'…I got this address from the Hotel Europe. The front door was open, I'm sorry to have caught you by surprise…'

'...this is a lovely surprise of course, but…'

'Holmes…I'm sorry.' She looked down at the floor. I've come to say goodbye.'

Holmes stared in shock, as she turned to the door as if to go…

'Wait! Erin!'

He pounded down the stairs, missed his footing on the bottom one and skidded to an ungainly halt on the marble floor of the hallway. She observed him with eyebrows raised quizzically.

'I…' he started

'I have to leave, now.'

'Look, whatever your secret is, whatever your real name is, whatever it is you're playing at…' he strode over to face her, 'I don't care!'

In a lightning quick motion she bent her head forward and kissed his cheek.

'More fool you,' she whispered.

Holmes swallowed, and stood, a grim statue, as she turned,

opened the front door,

and descended the steps towards the ink black canal.

_The young woman who called herself Erin Aquilla took the hand of the gondolier and let him help her clamber aboard the vessel. In the night, the gondola was merely a darker shadow against the already dark water. _

_A man's voice spoke from the cushioned seat towards the back._

'_What sort of a name is Aquilla?'_

'_It means _eagle_, father.'_

'_I know what it means, Irene.'_

_Irene let his words fade into the background and concentrated on the gentle splashing of the gondolier's oar as they glided slowly between tall tenement buildings. She had always known she was going to have to leave some time. _

'_Irene! I asked you a question! Who was that young man I saw you with?'_

'_Just an acquaintance, father.'_

'_That wasn't what he thought.'_

'_He'll live.'_


	8. Such sweet sorrow

A strange sort of numbness seemed to start filling his head, and Holmes sank to his knees in the middle of the marble hall floor. The hard coldness was, at least, a point of certainty. He rested his palms upon it and wished he could be part of its unbreakable, continuous whole…

'For the last time, Daniel, won't you let me be?'

That voice had to belong to Edwina, but in its shrill hysteria it was hardly recognisable.

'Edwina, darling, please…'

'Leave me!'

'But it's freezing out here, let's at least go into the house…'

'I want to stay here.'

'Then I'll stay with you…'

'…get away from me…'

'…Edwina, I…'

'Say it, Daniel, and I swear…'

'….alright, alright darling, I'll go into the house. You come when you're ready…'

Holmes stood up, as Daniel came through the door that Erin had left slightly ajar. He closed it firmly, and exclaimed in undisguised annoyance -

'Oh, you're still here.'

'Yes,' said Holmes, '….er...'

'Edwina's just outside, getting some air.'

'As you say.'

Daniel looked at him searchingly

'I don't much like your tone, sir…'

'…I don't much care for yours.'

Daniel's eyes now matched Holmes' for hostility, but he was clearly confused

'What…?'

'Morris was my best friend.'

'Quite so, and today was a most unfortunate…'

Holmes' fists were clenching as Daniel spoke, but before he completed the sentence something thumped on the wooden decking outside.

Daniel went white

'Edwina?' he called, with sudden urgency, turning back to the door. Holmes followed him out onto the jetty.

Edwina was lying in an ungainly heap on the slimy wood, petticoat visible beneath a tangle of skirt. Holmes pushed past Daniel to crouch down and feel for a pulse in her neck, but he could sense before he even touched her that,

'She's dead,' he said, simply.

The very air hung poised for a second or two, then Daniel unfroze and practically fell upon her prone figure

'Edwina! Edwina, oh…what have you _done_, my darling? It could have all been so perfect, but now… '

'…for God's sake, man, she's dead,' said Holmes, 'are you still thinking about the damn money?'

'Money?'

'The old woman's will! Oh, I know _all_ about _that_…'

'You think that's all this is about?'

'I think you killed your aunt for your inheritance, and when you found out that she'd cut you out of the will you...'

Holmes cut off his sentence as Daniel began to laugh. Gathering his resolve he spoke his next words with a steely calm,

'You killed your aunt, you killed Morris and I will see you hang for it…'

'…Morris! That idiot?'

'…you…'

'...he had no idea…No idea at all what a prize he had…'

Daniel smoothed the pallid skin of Edwina's cheek and whispered softly

'Morris is gone, so I can't reach him, but someone will pay for your pain, I swear it…'

'You're mad,' said Holmes, 'you're completely mad, which I suppose could be some defence, but…'

'All I wanted, Edwina, all I wanted was _you_. I _suggested_ the damn marriage clause to the old woman, I thought that it would help to persuade you… I… Oh, God! This is my punishment isn't it? I… I killed Aunt Lucinda because I needed to marry you now, I couldn't live without you, and I thought… I thought…'

His words descended into mumbling as he began rocking her body back and forth. Holmes noticed something slip onto the wooden decking, and stooped to pick it up. Daniel, wrapped in his grief, did not notice.

This glass bottle was smaller than that which Holmes had found in Daniel's room, and empty of all but the trace of a bitter almond scent. Where in the world had she got hold of it? A scrap of paper had been folded around the bottle, and then compressed against it so that its creases took on part of the bottle's shape relief. Holmes slipped it into his pocket. Examining the bottle again, he found a label that had been torn. Part of the P and the r of 'prussic' still remained. As he held the bottle in his hand, staring at the lettering, something clicked in his mind.

Morris, although not qualified as a doctor, had been in the habit of carrying around with him a small case containing his stethoscope, some basic first aid equipment and a variety of chemical treatments he had poached from the university stores. Holmes had considered this affectation harmless enough, and had even thought it might be useful, but now… to have unwittingly provided the means for his lover's suicide from beyond the grave…

He looked again at Edwina's lifeless form, lying not so very far from where some splinters of wood marked the point where Morris had died. How, in a matter of a days had his relatively uneventful life turned into this nightmare?

Holmes' eyes rested on Daniel, still hunched over his cousin.

Not a question of how, really, was it? It was a question of who to blame. And he already had an answer for that.


	9. Crossroads

Holmes stumbled into the police station in a sort of daze. He had not come straight there from the house, having first walked aimlessly through the maze of narrow alleyways behind St Mark's Square trying to gather his thoughts. But the death had to be officially reported, and Daniel was hardly going to do that.

His grasp of Italian was fairly limited and the English speaking constable with whom he had conversed earlier that day was absent, but he managed to communicate the fact that someone had died, which seemed to rouse the energies of the man behind the desk. Within a matter of ten minutes he was on board a police boat, seated beside one representative of the law and being rowed energetically by another along the Grand Canal. In order to better navigate the waterways the mode of rowing was unlike any he had seen before. The rower actually stood upright, and used the two oars in such a way that the push forward was the power stroke rather than the pull back, and he could face in the same direction as he was moving. This, however, merely served as a reminder to Holmes of those perversely happy - or at least that was how it seemed now – days spent gliding up and down the Cherwell in Oxford…

'Qui?'

The voice of the policeman roused him from his reverie. He looked up, to see that they were approaching the landing stage of the house,

'Si,' he replied.

…….

There was no sign of Daniel and Edwina outside. Holmes rushed to the front door, and found it open

'Daniel!' he shouted, 'Daniel, where are you?'

He spotted something lying on the stairs. A torn piece of fabric, such as might have come from a woman's dress,

'Daniel!' he called again, pounding up the staircase. When he reached the top, he saw that the door to the upstairs drawing room was ajar.

……..

Edwina…or rather Edwina's body…was sitting up in a high backed armchair by the fire. Were it not for the slightly uncomfortable way her head lolled to one side she might merely have been asleep. If Daniel had bodily dragged her up the stairs, he had done a fine job of re arranging her clothes and hair to look good as new.

Daniel was sitting in the other chair. He looked at Holmes with an expression so calm as to be frightening

'I didn't want to leave her outside.'

Holmes felt as though it was getting harder to breathe,

'She's…' he managed,

'She's dead. Great Aunt Lucinda, Morris, Edwina, all dead…' his face crumpled suddenly, and he brought his hands up to cover his eyes

'…all dead…She's dead…She's _dead'_

Holmes backed out of the room as he began to cry with great howling sobs. The policemen were standing outside. He indicated the room with an inclination of his head, as if it was not already obvious, then stumbled down the stairs and out onto the wooden jetty to gulp gratefully at the cool air of the night.

It wasn't until he put his hand into his pocket for his handkerchief that he realised he was still carrying the empty bottle of cyanide and Edwina's suicide note.

He turned back to the house, to find one of the policemen...but his feet suddenly seemed welded to the ground. Slowly, he removed his hand from his pocket again, leaving the evidence inside.


	10. No Going Back

The deck rose and fell in rhythm with the waves. They had rounded the city and were heading across the lagoon towards the mainland. The police had not tried to stop him leaving. Though to be fair, he had not really given them a lot of time to get their act together.

Ahead lay Italy, a train via Milan to Nice, from there to Paris, Calais, a ferry to Dover then home. It should be possible to do within three days, if he was lucky with connections.

Of course…he could return to the city in a matter of hours…

As if to silence the voice of his conscience, he shoved his hand into his pocket once more and clasped his fingers around the glass bottle.

_You can still go back._

In a swift movement he drew out the bottle and hurled it over the side of the boat. Suddenly feeling light headed, he sank down to his knees on the deck, and fumbled with trembling fingers in his breast pocket for a cigarette. But when he struck a match, he merely stared at the flaring orange triangle until it scorched his fingers and he dropped it.

_You can still go back_.

Daniel Trelawney had killed his great aunt, he had admitted as much, and the bottle of cyanide hidden in his room, which the police had no doubt found by now, was testament to that.

He had also, Holmes knew with every fibre of his being, been responsible for the untimely death of Morris Hertford, the only friend he, Holmes, had ever known.

And his own failure, his own inability to use the scientific rigour with which he habitually carried out chemical experiments to prove Trelawney's guilt rankled deeply, but at least…at least maybe this way there would be justice of sorts. Assuming the Venetian police were just clever enough but not _too_ bright…

…He drew out Edwina's note, still unread, from the inside pocket of his coat, and found he still lacked the strength to open it. Instead, he struck another match.

The flame caught in the bottom right hand corner of the folded page, and licked up, grey ash curling off and blowing away into the wind.

Now there was no going back.

o.o.o.o.o.o

* * *

o.o.o.o.o.o

Well, that's it... (sorry this final chapter is so short). Thanks very much to everyone who has been reading this! My other story - 'Unfinished Business' is a sequel to this one...


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